BLACK LAGOON: Rock's Choice - The Spider's Web of Roanapur
Okajima Rokurou had a future. A salaryman's future—steady, predictable, safe. Then Asahi Heavy Industries handed him a classified disk and a one-way ticket to Southeast Asia, and his superiors made one thing perfectly clear: *"You never existed. Not from the start."*
Erased. No passport. No family registry. No name.
He wakes in a warehouse in Roanapur—a sun-scorched city of cutthroats and contraband that appears on no map, where the only law is the balance of power between Hotel Moscow, the Tr
BLACK LAGOON: Rock's Choice - The Spider's Web of Roanapur - Vow of the Ruins and the Smiling Mastermind
The smell of scorched steel still clung to the morning air.
Half the walls of the Lagoon Company warehouse had collapsed, and the second floor had carbonized black and fallen through. The tools in the maintenance bay were warped from the heat, useless now. The wreckage of the equipment Benny had treasured peeked out from under the rubble.
Rock sat in a corner of the ruins.
His short black hair was a mess, and his white dress shirt was grimy with soot and sweat. The necktie he'd once knotted so neatly hung loose and limp at his collar. The small old scar above his left eyebrow stood out in the morning light.
In his hands, a crumpled family photo and an envelope from Omori.
"...I..."
His voice was dry.
The faces of his family in the photo. Father, mother, older brother. All of them smiling. An ordinary shot taken in the Asahi Heavy Industries employee cafeteria. But on the back, in Omori's handwriting, was this:
*Your family sold you to the company. Return, and your family will be protected. Refuse, and I cannot guarantee their safety.*
Rock gripped the photo. His fingertips trembled. The paper crinkled.
(My family—the ones I was supposed to protect—sold me.)
(The place I was supposed to return to burned to the ground.)
(What am I even living for?)
In the distance, a single gunshot rang out—*bang*.
His body didn't react anymore.
Only a few days in this city. And yet gunfire had already become part of the air.
"...Okajima Rokurou."
He murmured his own name.
A name no one called anymore. At the company, he'd been "Okajima." To his family, "Rokurou." Neither would ever come back.
"Rock, huh."
The name Dutch had given him. His new name in this city.
He still wasn't used to it.
But there was no other name left to call himself.
—That was when.
*Rattle, rattle, rattle*—a sound came from beyond the collapsed wall.
Footsteps crunching over rubble.
Getting closer.
Rock raised his head.
Backlit by the morning sun, a woman stood there.
A black tank top and short hot pants. Black hair tied in a ponytail, the ends flicking up slightly. The tattoo running from her nape to her right elbow stood out sharply in the morning light. Her tawny eyes looked down at Rock—sharp, direct.
It was Levy.
"...What the hell kind of state are you in?"
Rock didn't answer.
"How long have you been sitting there? Since morning? Since yesterday? Don't tell me you've been here since the fire?"
"...I don't know."
"Huh?"
"I've lost all sense of time."
Rock's voice was hoarse.
Levy looked down at him for a while. Then she kicked aside some rubble and crouched next to him.
"...Is that your family?"
She'd spotted the photo in his hands.
"Yeah."
"Huh."
Levy didn't ask anything more.
Silence fell over the burned ruins.
The wind blew, and the smell of soot passed between them.
"...Levy."
"What?"
"I was bait."
"...Tell me something I don't know."
"Yeah. I know it's late."
Rock stared at the photo.
"Balalaika's job was designed from the start to throw me against Zhang's group. Omori knew it too. I was placed between two great powers without knowing anything. ...No—I wasn't placed there. I walked there myself."
"...What are you trying to say?"
"I'm saying I'm not running anymore."
Rock lifted his head.
"I won't go back to the company, or to my family. I'll settle this in this city. With Omori, with Balalaika, with Zhang. No one's going to pull my strings anymore. I'll stand on my own two feet as a member of the Lagoon Company."
Levy stared at his face.
Her tawny eyes caught the morning sun and glowed gold.
"...Yesterday you had the eyes of a dead fish."
"Yeah. But that's over now. This dead fish is going to crawl onto land and learn to walk."
" What the hell does that even mean?"
Levy burst out laughing.
"You really are a weird one. Are all salarymen like this?"
"Who knows. I'm a former salaryman, after all."
"...Well, whatever."
Levy stood up.
"If you say you're going to live in this city, I won't stop you. But—"
She pointed a finger at him.
"You are not allowed to die on your own. I still haven't been paid back for my bullets."
Rock's eyes went wide.
"...Bullets?"
"That's right. I used a whole lot of ammo saving your ass. All of it's on your tab. If you die, I can't collect, can I?"
"...So what you're saying is—"
"What I'm saying is, you owe me. So dying on your own? Not allowed."
Levy said it and turned her face away.
Her ears were a little red.
Rock watched her profile.
(This person is always like this.)
(Clumsy, foul-mouthed, but she will never, ever abandon you.)
"...Understood. I'll pay it back. With interest."
" Oh, a salaryman who knows the word 'interest.'"
"Former salaryman. Interest calculations are my specialty."
"...Idiot."
Levy gave a small laugh.
That smile was strangely vivid in the morning sun.
—*Brrrrring.*
Suddenly, the radio at Levy's hip went off.
"...That's not mine. It's the warehouse radio."
Levy turned toward the rubble.
*Brrrrring. Brrrrring.*
The sound was coming from deep inside the collapsed office.
Rock stood up.
"...I'll answer it."
"Be careful. You're still unsteady on your feet."
"I'm fine. I won't die until I've paid off my debt."
"...Good grief."
Rock stepped over the rubble and headed for the remains of the office.
He found the radio under a charred desk. Miraculously, it wasn't broken.
He pressed the button.
"...Hello. This is Rock, of the Lagoon Company."
*Kzzzt... kzzzt...*
Static.
"...Rock, is that you?"
A low, familiar voice.
Rock caught his breath.
"Dutch! You're alive!"
"Yeah. Sorry for worrying you."
On the other end, Dutch gave a faint laugh.
"How's Benny?"
"He's with a repairman in the black market. His life isn't in danger. But he's still unconscious..."
"I see. ...You and Levy are safe, then."
"Yeah. Somehow."
"Good. Listen, Rock. I'm on the east side of the old town right now. It took me a while to shake the Cleaners. But while I was doing that, I did some digging."
"Digging?"
"On Omori's movements and Zhang's deal. I'll give you the bottom line. Zhang's deal resumes tomorrow night. Third Pier, Warehouse Seven. Same as last time."
In Rock's mind, the pieces clicked into place.
(Same place as last time. Which means Omori is counting on me coming back.)
(No, wait. That's not all.)
"Dutch. Let me confirm one thing."
"Go ahead."
"Where did you get that information?"
On the other end, Dutch paused for a moment.
"...Good question. One of Zhang's men got drunk and let it slip at Rosanna's shop in the Passage. High credibility. But it's just a little too well-timed."
"So it's possible it was leaked on purpose."
"Yeah. Omori might have leaked it to set a trap for you. But here's the thing, Rock."
Dutch's voice turned serious.
"Even knowing it's a trap, if we don't stop that deal, Scarlet Mist floods the streets. If that happens, the balance of power in Roanapur shifts overnight. Our jobs—our lives—gone."
"...I know."
"So what do we do? You decide. I trust your judgment."
Rock gripped the radio.
Sweat seeped into his palm.
(What do I do? What's the right move?)
(Omori is waiting for me to make a move.)
(Balalaika used me as bait.)
(But even so, I—)
"...Dutch."
"Yeah."
"I'm going to see Balalaika. Directly."
On the other end, Dutch let out a slow breath.
"...So that's your play."
"Yeah. I'm done being bait without knowing anything. I want to confirm her true intentions. And without her power, we don't stand a chance against both Omori and Zhang."
"Meeting Balalaika is dangerous. You understand that?"
"I understand. But there's no turning back now."
"...I see."
Dutch paused, then spoke.
"There's something in your eyes. Go. And come back alive."
"Yes. Without fail."
"Also, tell Levy. I'll pick up Benny later. You two focus on the operation."
"Understood. ...Dutch, thank you."
"Save your thanks for when you're back alive."
*Kzzzt...*
The radio went dead.
Rock set it down.
Deep in his chest, something had begun to burn—quietly, but surely.
(Let's go.)
(No more hesitation.)
He turned around. Levy was sitting on the rubble, chewing gum.
"...I heard the whole thing."
"Did you."
"You're serious about meeting Balalaika?"
"Dead serious."
Levy blew a bubble and popped it.
*Snap.*
"...That woman sends people to hell with a smile. You're going to walk in there alone?"
"I'll go alone. I can't drag you into this."
"Ha, what are you talking about? I'm already dragged in."
Levy hopped down from the rubble.
"You go alone, that woman wraps you around her finger, and you end up bait again. That's how it'll go. I'm coming too. Got a problem with that?"
"...No. If anything, that's reassuring."
" Oh, aren't we honest. What happened, did you hit your head?"
"I was buried in rubble, so that's a real possibility."
"...You're surprisingly thick-skinned."
"Former salaryman. Unreasonable demands from superiors forge a thick skin."
"Whatever."
Levy drew her twin pistols from their holsters and checked the rounds.
The silver slides reflected the morning sun.
"Alright, let's go. It's a fifteen-minute walk to Hotel Moscow. Can you keep up?"
"Somehow. For the sake of repaying my debt."
"...How long are you going to milk that debt thing?"
"Until it's fully paid."
" You're such an idiot."
Levy laughed and started walking.
Rock followed behind her.
They passed through the burned ruins and emerged onto the cobblestone alleys of the old town.
The morning market was already stirring.
The smell of something frying in oil drifted from the stalls. A fruit vendor called out to customers. From deeper in the alley came shouts and laughter.
Roanapur's morning was, as always, full of blood and clamor.
The two of them walked toward Hotel Moscow.
—Hotel Moscow.
A twelve-story luxury hotel towering in the northeast of the city. The only neutral ground in Roanapur where "no trouble" was strictly enforced.
The moment they entered the lobby, cold air bit at their skin.
Four armed guards stood along the walls. Rock could tell all of them had guns hidden under their suits.
"...Is this your first time here?"
"Yeah. It's also my first time meeting Balalaika."
"Huh. That woman named you specifically and she's never even met you."
"That's right."
Levy approached the front desk.
"We're Rock and Levy from the Lagoon Company. We'd like to request a meeting with Balalaika."
The woman at the front desk looked at them with a blank expression.
"One moment, please."
She spoke briefly into an internal phone.
"...Please go to the top floor. Balalaika will see you."
"Just waves us right through."
"Within expectations. She must have known I was coming."
"...What a creepy woman."
The two of them stepped into the elevator.
Pressed the top-floor button.
The elevator rose silently.
Rock looked at his face in the mirror.
A soot-stained dress shirt. Disheveled hair. An exhausted face.
(I'm about to meet the most dangerous woman in this city.)
(And yet, strangely, I'm not afraid.)
(Because I have nothing left to lose.)
*Ding*—the doors opened.
The top floor.
They walked down the corridor.
The thick carpet swallowed their footsteps. Expensive-looking paintings lined the walls.
Two men stood in front of the large door at the end.
"Surrender your weapons."
Levy clicked her tongue.
"...Yeah, yeah."
She handed her twin pistols to the man.
Rock had nothing on him.
"Go through."
The door opened.
—The room was opulent.
Deep crimson carpet. A heavy wooden desk. Bookshelves covering an entire wall. And beyond the window, the whole city of Roanapur spread out below.
In the center of the room, with her back to the large window, a woman stood.
Blonde hair in long waves, gathered into a ponytail. Cold blue-gray eyes. A thin cigar in her right hand.
Burn scars—large ones—marked her face, her neck, her chest.
And yet those scars only made her beauty
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